


sailor's luck

by cumulo_nimbus



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Episode: s02e01 Amok Time, Jim doesn't know that Spock's a touch telepath.com, M/M, Pon Farr, Rimming, Vulcan Biology, i have an inordinate fondness for Spock's stobe-lit + curtained meditation area and it’s obvious, stupid jim kirk rights!!!!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-18 18:50:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20643980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cumulo_nimbus/pseuds/cumulo_nimbus
Summary: Jim obeys the orders of Admiral Komack and directs the Enterprise straight to Altair VI. All is well aboard the Enterprise, with Spock confined to his quarters until they reach Vulcan, until it's not.(retcon of Episode: s02e01 Amok Time)





	sailor's luck

**Author's Note:**

> there's some kind of dubious consent throughout this. it's stated clearly by Jim during, and by Spock after, that neither regret having sex, but during the act itself there is some confusion/initial shock.
> 
> as usual, i've discarded all canon that i don't particularly care for and gone way too deep into my own meta ! "If [Vulcans] do not mate with someone with whom they are empathically bonded they eventually enter Plak Tow" my ass!! vulcans fuck indiscriminately and i won't hear anything else on the matter

“Mr Sulu,” he calls from his Captain’s chair, “Maintain steady orbit around Altair VI. The Enterprise is here as a show of support; we shouldn’t deviate until the President's ceremony is completed.” He relaxes against the seat, relieved finally from the rush of arriving at Altair VI before the events commenced. Spock’s absence, as it always does, caused some minor mishaps throughout the journey; little errors that escaped most minds bar his adding to the stress of the trip.

A headache has been building at his nape since they received their orders, though even more worrying is Spock’s reason for his absence – his unexplained illness. He’s refused any form of medical examination from McCoy despite direct orders, and in his state even became allegedly aggressive when McCoy tried to coerce him. Confined to his quarters on both Jim’s and his own request, he’s remained undisturbed as far as Jim knows, mostly due to all efforts being funnelled into reaching their destination promptly, but the journey is done, now.

“Miss Uhura, keep channels open for communications from Altair VI and contact me if there’s an emergency. Otherwise, I have business,” he says, slipping from the chair and rounding to the turbo-lift. No one calls out after him, and he just hopes it will last.

He’s bounding out of the doors as soon as he can squeeze through them, walking directly to Spock’s cabin. McCoy being unable to wring the information out of Spock doesn’t quite stand for much with their relationship as fickle as it is, but it’s still concerning.

He overrides the locked door, barely even thinking of it as he steps through into Spock’s room. It’s as dim as he can recall, and he sees, briefly, ripped curtains hanging from an interior room before a blur of feverish mass is upon him.

There’s a hollow metallic thud as he collides with the closed doors behind him, arms instinctively reaching up to push the body off of his own. There’s a tight grip around his biceps, and in the struggle, they go off balance, tipping forwards for Jim to fall on top of the creature. The sound of the impact is dull, this time, dampened by the flooring, and the body in his hands relents momentarily from the stumble.

He sees Spock’s features easily in the hazy face looking back at him – would know that face in any state. His expression is nearly blank; completely at odds with the ferocity that returns to him when he pushes Jim off of himself. Jim’s sliding on his flank across the floor, coming to a rest in that otherworldly room that he knows Spock meditates in. It’s in no such state for relaxation, though, as he stares upside down at the disarray of the room; torn curtains and toppled objects littering the space.

Spock is stalking towards him when he has the strength to loll his head forward again, crawling on all fours to loom over him. He can’t think of anything else to do, and falls back on what never fails him – his mouth. “Spock – Spock! It’s me, it’s Jim,” he says.

There’s no acknowledgement from Spock as he settles over him, pinning his legs and arms down pitifully easily with his Vulcan strength. Jim thinks about trying to buck him off, but figures it won’t do much, let alone that it’ll likely just anger this parody of Spock’s usual self.

“Are you alright, Spock? Can you understand me?” Once more, there’s no visible cue of comprehension, and he searches Spock’s face in silence for a moment longer.

Spock bends down in the reprieve, shifting his weight over Jim in a consideration that indicates at least some semblance of rational thought process and, never mind, that’s an erection. Spock’s erection, unless something else terrible is at play, he thinks with a desperate sort of humour.

His dick lines up against Jim’s hip as he seems to scent him, right below the ear, and Jim can’t stop thinking of all the blood, all the vital biology right beneath Spock’s teeth. The fear grips him vice-like in the chest, and even with the physical exertion, he feels cold as he lies there, still as he can hold himself. Spock doesn’t pull back, but a deep rumble starts up his torso, pressed right against Jim’s own.

It’s comforting, like a cat’s purr, Jim thinks somewhere in the back of his mind, as Spock’s mouth opens against his neck. The hot breath puffs against his skin, and before he can think his last mental words, Spock’s tongue is laving against him. It’s interspersed with brief things that he doesn’t want to consider kisses, and he feels his body react to Spock’s attention long before he can try to stop it.

He hardens in his uniform, and there’s a definite increase in the volume of Spock’s almost-purring as he continues to mouth at Jim’s neck. “Spock,” he nearly whines, trying to wiggle from Spock’s grip. He can’t – they can’t – do this. It doesn’t matter what’s afflicting Spock; he can’t allow his own grade-school crush to colour the experience.

Spock, however, only holds Jim harder to the floor. The floor is more giving here, covered with a mat for meditation, and Jim’s never been so grateful for Spock’s yielding to some physical comforts. Physics comforts that Spock usually denies himself off, including, as far as Jim’s aware, sexual gratification. There have been pathogen-induced outbursts of desire and emotion before, of course, and he struggles to imagine what’s causing this in Spock, even as Spock slowly, as slowly as these last few days have dragged, starts rutting his hips into Jim’s own.

It takes him a stutter and a second to pull his mind back to task from the sensation – Spock seemed aware that he was being overcome with an illness, so was he aware this would happen? Was that why he refused to tell anyone? He can’t imagine Spock explaining anything of the sort, not only to him, but to McCoy, and thinks he might have a working hypothesis.

It doesn’t, unfortunately, explain how Spock can be restored to regular functioning bar the thought, that is just about as insistent as Spock’s erection against him, that if Spock is sexually pent up, the answer should – logically – involve sexual gratification. Even the mention of logic has him longing for the Spock he knows, but he thinks, with a determination too eager to be obligatory, there seems to be only one solution for that.

Spock’s still pulling bruises to the tender skin of his neck as he goes, and Jim tries to wiggle once more just to pull him to eye level. It works, but Spock’s face is far too attractive above him. His features are as severe as Jim loves, but his lips are blood-filled and slick with saliva. It forces an embarrassing twitch of his hips, and Spock meets it with a roll back, pressing Jim back to the floor.

He tries an arm next, giving Spock his most pleading look as he twists it in his grip. He gets a barely-there narrowing of Spock’s eyes, but he releases Jim’s hand, planting his now-free hand down hard next to his head. It sends another jolt of fear through him, except it’s laced with desire this time as he reaches down, gradually enough to telegraph his intentions, to unfasten Spock’s pants.

As soon as his hand makes contact with Spock’s crotch, he bucks into it, and Jim has to manoeuvre quickly to get them undone. He pushes the waistband down as delicately as he can manage over Spock’s crotch, and then Spock’s free hand is joining his to pull the pants off of himself. In the midst of it all, Spock releases Jim to strip him, and it’s with a justified conviction that Jim will recall that he just didn’t have time to try to escape from Spock’s grasp.

They’re left naked, surrounded by discarded clothing, and Jim can’t really fault the progression of events.

Spock doesn’t pin him to the floor again, but rolls Jim over onto his elbows and knees with an insistent push. He’s disoriented as he settles, trying not to rear back from where Spock is behind him, unseen and unnerving. Spock’s hand, then, taps Jim’s legs wider, pushes at the tender backs of his knees until he’s satisfied with how Jim is presented to him.

A hot flush of embarrassment comes over Jim at the way he’s displayed, but Spock cuts through it, laying himself over Jim’s back to press human kisses down his spine, right until he reaches the swell of Jim’s ass. His tongue is searing as he laps at Jim, and Jim doesn’t have time to worry why Spock’s internal temperature is so high before that tongue is pressing into him proper.

He’s lucky he’s already on his elbows – doesn’t have any distance to collapse further, and he very nearly keens. It’s a foreign sensation, one that he can only recall experiencing once or twice before, but it’s better than he remembers. There’s something about the hold Spock has around his thighs, something about the way he uses his tongue, something about the fact that it’s Spock doing this to him and not anyone else, that has Jim pushing back into his mouth.

He can feel the saliva begin to run from where Spock’s eating him out, and then Spock pulls back. The warmth of him remains between Jim’s calves, but the air in the room shocks cold right against his hole. He manages to hold in any sounds that might try to escape from him before his dignity catches up, and still, he can’t help the jerk of his muscles when Spock’s mouth returns along with his fingers, wet and just as hot. He pushes his fingers into Jim first, and then his tongue resumes laving at his stretched rim. Jim’s hips slip a little wider as he flexes them back, and Spock readily takes up the available space.

His motions are efficient, but with a raw edge of hurriedness, and he pulls his mouth and fingers back again before Jim can settle into the feeling. It’s clear what comes next, and the pressure that builds gradually as Spock lines his dick up against Jim’s hole wrings only a shiver of anticipation from him. There’s wetness there, too, like Spock’s own cock has been slicked up, but he doesn’t have time to ponder the thought.

Spock spreads him with one hand, the other planted alongside Jim’s flank, and with a roll of his hips, he sheaths himself in Jim. A garbled breath leaves him at the entrance, like the breath as been punched out of him. It’s immediately overwhelming, and that deep rumble starts up again in Spock’s torso as he breathes through it.

The weight of Spock blankets him once more as he bends to lie over Jim. He noses Jim’s head to one side, snuffling and panting against the skin of his neck as they lie, still. His attention turns to kissing and sucking hickeys over time as they wait, until Jim huffs out a breath. “Thank you, Spock,” he says, even as he knows that Spock won’t understand. He rolls back his hips to convey his meaning instead, and Spock meets him with one last enthused kiss to his jawline before he rights himself.

He feels no smaller inside of Jim given the time, but the discomfort is mostly dissipated as he returns to those achingly slow ruts of his hips against Jim’s. It takes the sharp edge off of the pleasure that’s been building, like scratching an itch, and Jim reaches down to stroke himself through it with nary a thought. Spock bats away his hand as soon as he gets it past his hip, and just as Jim is lamenting the lost pleasure, Spock’s hand moves to his dick instead.

There must be a lubricant on Spock’s cock, because it’s on his hand as well, Jim realizes, at the smooth slide of his dick into Spock’s fist. It’s gratifying in such intensity that he struggles, briefly, to think of when he last enjoyed himself this much – enjoyed sex this much, even. If there’s a particularly satisfied rumble from behind him at the thought, he doesn’t pick up on it.

Spock’s pace increases almost lazily, just enough for Jim to tell when Spock’s finally ready to actually chase orgasm and not just partake in the sensation. Even then, it’s a firm thrust in, held for just an instant longer as he grinds his dick into Jim, before it’s realised into Spock working his cock like a piston in and out of the heat of Jim’s ass.

Each snap of his hips has Jim, in turn, pushing into the hold of Spock’s hand around his dick, and it’s really not very long before he’s out of breath, panting into the crook of his elbow as he tries not to cum. Spock doesn’t relent on either front, though, and it feels like time has barely passed before he’s cumming with a poorly muffled groan, teeth fastened over his forearm in an attempt to muffle the noise.

There’s another of those sounds from Spock behind him as he releases his hold on Jim’s dick to stabilize himself. Jim’s thoroughly relaxed into the floor, only his hips propped up by Spock’s own mass behind them, and the cool air of the room has space to sweep over his back as he lays there.

It’s not uncomfortable, he thinks, as Spock pursues the elusive tail of his orgasm, to lie there and allow Spock to use him for what he wants. A stinging, guilty part of his mind says it’s the least he can do, considering how he’s betrayed Spock’s privacy and confidence, but he shoves it away. Spock can make that decision once he’s well.

Spock gives a feral kind of snarl as he cums, bent over Jim, and it’s just wishful thinking when he thinks that he hears a strained, “Jim”, buried inside of it. Spock slumps over him, and it might just be the sweat cooling in the dip of Jim’s back, but Spock doesn’t feel as feverish as he was earlier. He intends to stay awake and process it all, he really does, but the deep breaths of Spock’s beside his ear and the weight of him lull Jim very swiftly into dreams.

When he wakes, however, he can’t recall any dreams. There’s exhaustion pulling at his bones, though, even a tenderness from his backside gradually announcing itself, but he’s still immensely relaxed; still caught in the webs of sleep as he rubs at his face. He gives a yawn into the pillow below his head, nestles into it, but it’s not the right firmness. It has no give; barely indenting even as he presses into it, and he realises that he’s not in his quarters.

He jerks into sitting, off-kilter with his mind still half-asleep, and surveys his surroundings. He’s not in uniform, but a loose robe that’s both soft and worn. From the bed, he’s privy to a direct line of sight into a curtained room and remembers with a panicked sort of resignation that while his mouth did, in fact, recuse him from earlier events, it’ll likely not rescue him from this in the same manner.

Looking around, though, the room displays no signs of the disorderly mess it had been when Jim had found it. Everything seems to be in its correct – and logical, his mind informs him – place. He doesn’t think to be quiet as he takes stock of himself and Spock’s absence, and then there’s Spock’s head, poking around the wall blocking off the meditation chamber, looking over at him.

They stare at each other, but it’s Spock who recovers first, “Captain,” he says, rising to his feet and moving to stand in the space.

Jim’s trying desperately not to think about how they were fucking not even a meter from where Spock stands, and interjects, “I think you can call me Jim, now,” before his brain can catch up with his stupid, no good mouth.

Spock doesn’t recoil as a human might, but Jim’s known him long enough to see it. “Jim. I must, foremost, apologise for my actions towards you,” he begins, and Jim knows he’s not going to get a word in edgewise if he allows Spock to get going.

“Spock,” he says, waving a hand as if to dismiss the notion. “Do you regret having sex with me?” He asks, knows as he says it that it will either work or result in Spock’s resignation on his desk within the day, probably as well as a notice that he’s submitted himself for arrest or something similar.

There’s as much shock in Spock’s expression that a Vulcan is permitted, but he responds. “Yes.”

“Explain,” Jim pushes.

“I behaved forcefully towards you in a sexual manner that was not wilfully reciprocated due to my ponn far,” he says, Jim knows that getting even this from Spock is like having successfully drawn blood from a stone.

“You might’ve liked to ask me before making those conclusions, Spock,” he replies. “If you’ll permit me to speak as a friend, and not a Captain,” he says, waiting for Spock’s curt nod before continuing, “I enjoyed having you fuck me. A lot.”

A beat passes, wherein a human might’ve sputtered or reacted, and yet all that Spock gives him is a raised eyebrow. “Indeed?” His tone is curious, voice low as not to betray something that Jim can’t quite identify.

“Yes, indeed,” he says. “Now, do you regret having sex with me for any other reason?” He asks, and he can see as Spock bristles at the use of such an emotive word as regret, but can’t bring himself to say it in such a roundabout way as Spock would likely prefer.

There’s another pause before Spock replies. “No,” he says, with a bare hint of hesitance colouring his reply.

“Then, I think we’ll do alright,” Jim says, reclining against the pillows behind him. “Come sit with me, Spock, I don’t want for you to just stand there,” he says, patting the bed beside himself in a way that even he is aware is painfully human for Spock. “Now, what’s a ponn far?”

**Author's Note:**

> happy Amok Time airing anniversary!! i'm in my first watch of TOS and just got through Amok Time and thought, well, I have do do smth for the occasion. by some stroke of luck, also i found out on the same day i started writing that it was the anniversary 
> 
> i only thought of the sailor's luck/sailors fuck joke as i'm writing this and i cbf changing the title and also! my search history now has 'where in a cat is the purr' immortalised in it :// live long and fuck your Captain, folks


End file.
